Together
by Michy Drarry Shipper
Summary: Can Draco save Harry when he can't even save himself? Slash, AU, dark/grey!Draco


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

**Summary: **Can Draco save Harry when he can't even save himself?

**Dedication: **Written for one of my favourite fanfic authors, the very talented Sarah aka Lillelle as part of the _Fic Exchange of Epic Proportions_. I hope you enjoy this, lovely!

**Rating:** T

**Warnings:** Implied slash sex, suicidal themes, character deaths, AU, dark/grey!Draco

**Also**: Written for the _Battle of the Houses Competition_, prompt #8, the _Duct Tape Competition_ for Pink and the _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizidry Challenge_, for Potions

* * *

_He's not Harry._ When he trails his lips along Draco's neck, kisses branding his skin. When he threads his olive fingers through Draco's hair and pulls their faces together, his breathing hot and ragged. When he wraps his muscular arms around Draco's torso, trying to make him feel safe. _Not Harry, not Harry, not Harry._ And that's the point.

When Blaise whispers Draco's name, he could be speaking in another language – it sounds wrong. When he promises Draco that there are no strings attached, Draco smiles numbly.

Draco's hands cramp from clenching them in his sleep, their muscle memory seeking out matching hands that aren't there. His eyes sting from the tears that won't fall. His throat burns with the words he won't say. His whole body aches because the agony in his soul radiates.

He knows Harry will come to him as soon as he calls, if he calls. That he will seek him out as long as he is still alive at the end of this war. Harry will never give up on him. But Draco wishes he would. He wishes Harry wouldn't love him anymore.

Draco is _poison_. The Dark Mark etched on his arm is but a superficial sample of the blackness within. He is twisted, tainted, _toxic_. But Harry, sweet Harry who only sees the best in people will never believe him. Draco will try his best to convince him anyway.

* * *

Harry finds him after the battle, face glowing as he whispers reverently, "You're okay."

"No, I'm not," Draco protests in vain.

He hopes it will be enough. He points his wand to his head, closes his eyes and draws out a silver thread. Harry squints in confusion as Draco drops the luminescent strand in a vial and corks it. He grabs Harry's hand and shuts Harry's fingers over the vial. His eyes lock onto Harry's.

"What's wrong, Dray?"

It almost makes him give up. Almost makes him believe that Harry could love him so that he is whole again. Almost makes him stop caring either way. Almost.

Draco shakes his head and points to the vile.

"I can't love you like you deserve, Harry. Let me go."

Harry reaches out too late. Draco disapparates. Harry kicks the ground in frustration. He looks at the vial in his hand, then around at the rubble and debris littering the ground. It is deserted. Everyone who is still alive is in the Great Hall.

"Harry," a familiar voice calls. "Are you okay?"

Harry turns. It's Hermione, supported by Ron at the entrance to the Hall. There is a haunted look in their eyes that he fears will never fade. Dread consumes him from the inside out, as he wonders who has died. He shakily steps up the stairs and inside to find out.

Some are quivering with anguish, their bodies wracking with sobs that echo through the castle. Others are, frozen, almost catatonic, staring into space and not talking at all. Harry is one of the second. So much has happened that night. He can't process any more thoughts or emotions.

* * *

It is sunset the next day when he registers that Hermione is holding him, saying something. He blinks as she points to his closed fist. She gently prises it open and he sees a vial full of silver liquid. _Draco._

He stands up, knocking Hermione back, and runs out of the hall and up the steps to Dumbledore's office, deaf to the shouts that follow him, the faces of his friends, both dead and alive, blurring. In the office, he tips the vial into the pensive, and for the second time in 24 hours, dives into someone else's memories.

* * *

He is in a dungeon, dim and filthy. There are people he doesn't know huddled in the corner, cowering. They are unable to move, pulled back by a chain bound tightly around their legs, pinning them to the wall. Draco. He is dressed in a black robe, characteristic of the Death Eaters, but no mask covers his ethereal face. His expression is set and grim as he raises his wand.

"Please don't," one of the women begs, her voice raspy.

Draco appears not to hear.

"Crucio!"

Their bodies convulse and their screams reverberate.

"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"

Harry falls into blackness and finds himself overlooking a long table. Death Eaters sit all around it, Voldemort at the head. Seated to the snake-eyed man's left is Draco.

"What do you know, Draco?" Voldemort demands. "What are Potter's weaknesses?"

Draco looks down at his hands and chews his lip. "I – I'm not sure…"

"Come now," Voldemort says warningly. "Volunteer the information or I shall rip it from your mind by force."

"He can be easily baited if you take his friends," Draco whispers. "He doesn't want anybody to be hurt for him."

"Good," Voldemort hisses.

Harry is falling again.

He lands in another dark room, smaller and softly furnished. A bedroom. In the centre, there is a bed, a four-poster bed, with green silk drapes.

Draco crashes into the room, pulling along another man. Blaise. Draco drags him to the bed and pushes him down, struggling to tear off his clothing while Blaise kisses him passionately.

The blackness drags Harry down until he is in a study. Draco sits at a desk. His hands are wrapped around an ornate chalice and his eyes are closed. He raises the cup to his lips, shivering so much that the black liquid spills. Taking a deep breath, he tips his head back and skols the drink. He drops the chalice, coughing, as a gust of smoke forms into a skull and cross bones.

* * *

Harry gasps and falls backward. He is sitting in Dumbledore's office once more.

_I can't love you the way you deserve. Let me go._

He can't. He can't. He can't.

He can't let him go. He is imprinted in his skin, painted behind his eyelids, pressed onto his brain. He is pumping through his veins, infused into his blood.

He can't. He can't. He can't.

He's not a toy Harry can throw away after playing with. A breath of air he can exhale. Nor even a limb he can amputate.

He is all of Harry. He can't let him go. _He can't._

With a snap, Harry is on a bank. The Black Lake is glassy, still. The place of their first date.

"No."

Harry's knees buckle with relief and he lands in front of Draco.

"Don't!" Draco implores.

Harry ignores his pleas and envelops him in a desperate hug.

"Don't you get it?" Draco cries. "I'm evil."

"I don't care," Harry murmurs, pressing his face against Draco.

"I'll poison you."

"Maybe I want to be poisoned."

"I don't care what you want! I want you to let me go."

"Maybe I don't care what you want."

"I'm going to hell."

"I want to go with you."

Draco realises he is too late. He has already infected Harry and there is no salvation for either of them.

"Then let's go."

Neither breaks their gaze as they link hands, the puzzle pieces that fit perfectly, and walk down the bank. The black water creeps higher and higher up their bodies as they descend into darkness. They go under and they have no regrets. They are together. Always.

* * *

**A/N:** I always love reviews, I appreciate all concrit and comments :)


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